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Teacher Passes the Test ,Part 1 of 10, It Was Worth Breaking In by
Shakespeare_I._Aint (m/MF everything)

















   ======================================================================
My name is Damien.  Not like the devil child in those movies from the
seventies--I've seen them, and I'm not like him.  I'm pretty normal for a
boy who has been shuttled into various foster and group homes all my life.
No, instead of being the son of an anti-Christ, I'm the son of a crackhead
mother doing life for murder occurring during a robbery attempt.  I doubt
she could name my father.  Then again, I couldn't pick her out of a photo
line-up either; I don't remember her.

   I've been moved around for the fifteen years of my young life.  One year
here, six months there.  Analyzed and assigned to places supposed to help
me overcome the circumstances of my birth.  My "jacket", the dossier
containing my profile, contains choice phrases such as, "amoral", "lacking
in empathy", "manipulative", and my personal favorite, "classic loner".  A
yellow post-it note stuck to my file during my last transit advises that,
should I become a serial killer, I would probably break Gacy's record long
before I was caught.  High praise indeed, although such sentiments should
be reduced to writing and not appended to the my file in such a temporary
manner.

   I'm not a serial killer and I probably will never be one.  I'm simply a
victim of the system.  Yes, I do lack empathy, I am amoral, manipulative
and I am somewhat of a loner.  So what?  I get by.  Actually, the "serial
killer" tag was placed by a in-residence psychologist shocked by my
displays of friendly gregariousness which I followed with almost autistic
withdrawals.  I was just playing with her mind.  I didn't like the way she
needed to stereotype and codify me for her professional and personal
comfort.

   I tend to test off the charts for intelligence just as I land outside
the norm of the psychological tests I've submitted to.

   I'm five foot ten; weigh 155 pounds, and I have blonde hair and blue
eyes.  I look Aryan.  I am the loner described above, although I can get
along just dandy with my housemates, thank-you.

   The story of my beautiful teacher, Cindy Van Horn, begins when I was
transferred to a foster home in a suburb of Detroit, Michigan.  The home
contained 10 misfit boys, shepherded by a harried, middle-aged couple named
Bill and Cathy McGwire.  By now they were only in the game for the money
they got each month from the state, and a tax break on their large ranch
home.  They tended to trust me from the start as I quickly showed them how
helpful and trouble-free I could be relative to the other miscreants they
housed.

   I started my senior year of high-school at Clinton High.  I was a senior
because some well-meaning administrator at one of the elementary schools
had seen fit to promote me ahead two grades years ago--they don't do much
of that anymore.

   For whatever reason; and I can't always supply my reasoning--it defies
my analysis--I took a shine to one of my teachers, Mrs.  Cindy Van Horn, a
late-twenties Humanities teacher in her fifth year of teaching.  She stood
five foot two, and weighed about 105 pounds soaking wet, which is how I
wanted to see her.  She had short blonde hair with a fresh, pretty face. 
Her breasts, almost always hidden under a sweater, were delightfully heavy.
The chick was a full-blood thoroughbred with impeccable lines.  She had
cheerleader/prom queen/college newspaper/graduation/marriage to "Mr. 
right" written all over her.  Her manner of teaching was impersonal at
best. She lectured in an almost uncaring monotone, never once getting
sidetracked from the material at hand.  She graded hard, and most honor
students avoided her classes religiously for fear that their hard-won grade
point averages would suffer should they land in one of her classes.  It
didn't bother me, I had a free-ride scholarship coming anyway, as a ward of
the state.  And I never got hung up on grades or homework for that matter

   I believe I fell for Mrs.  Van Horn for one simple reason.  She appeared
to dismiss me.  I imagine she knew that I was living in the group home.  I
seemed to bring out her natural disdain.  My essay answers were
"superficial", my hand was ignored when raised to answer a question.  It
was interesting.  It didn't hurt my feelings, mind you.  It was just
interesting.  I had never been judged such an inferior human being, and it
was the first thing that had really caught my attention in a few years. 
She had classified me and found me far beneath the need for notice.

   I don't like stereotypes.  I didn't like being dismissed out of hand.  I
did like Mrs.  Van Horn though.  I felt the need to make her notice me.  To
make her respect me.

   I began by following her home and finding that she lived less than 2
miles from my own crowded house.  A far nicer subdivision than the one I
lived in.  Don't let anyone tell you teachers don't make good money because
they do.  And two teachers make twice as much.  Mrs.  Van Horn was married
to an older guidance counselor in his late-thirties, Edwin Van Horn.  He
was apparently not working because of an alleged back injury incurred when
he slipped on an icy walk at the school two years prior.

   Their home was a large ranch-style on a heavily treed double lot.  The
house wasn't even visible from the street.  Perfect for me to hide in and
watch them.  So I did.  Every evening for a week.  Stalking you say?  Sure.


   I found out some surprising things during that week.  First and
foremost, they argued every night.  What they argued about, I didn't know.
Ed would disappear down into their basement and, as often as not, return a
while later with a pipe full of weed, and they would smoke it, relaxing as
they smoked the peace pipe.

   Ed was a short, stocky individual, about 5'7" and 190 pounds.  He had
brown hair, silver glasses and the beard high school teachers grow to look
like college professors.  I noticed that he didn't seem very injured at
all, unless his pot belly was straining his back.

   On Saturday, when I took up my post on their property, I saw Ed Van Horn
slip on a neck brace and grab his cane and limp out to the garage.  First
time I'd seen him limp all week.  Cindy followed and shortly the garage
door slid open and off they went, in her black Dodge Viper.

   I didn't know where they were going, but I knew where they weren't.  I
walked into their back yard.  The doorwall was closed, but not locked.  I
walked in like I owned the place.

   I did a meticulous search of the premises, prepared at any time to dart
out the front door in case they came back.  They were gone over two hours,
giving me the time I needed to seal their fate.

   I went into the basement to find Ed's stash.  I found more than I
thought I would.  What I found shocked me.  His stash wasn't immediately
visible until I looked up at the suspended ceiling.  One tile showed
repeated signs of having been moved.  I reached up and located a garbage
bag.  I pulled it down.  Far too heavy for drugs, I figured.  I was wrong.
Ed had two bricks of dope in there along with some loose weed.  About five
pounds, I guessed.  And an open leather bank bag with a huge amount of
money and a small notebook.  And a loaded semi-auto handgun.  I made an
appropriation right then and there.  I left the gun after making a
modification to it.

   I searched the upstairs of the home.  I located Ed's lawsuit files and
added then to my garbage bag.  Looking through their videotapes, I noticed
several unmarked videos.  I ran them through the v.c.r., finding one nice
tape of them fucking.  My teacher did have a beautiful body.  The tape went
with me.

   I rechecked the home, making sure everything was pretty much as they'd
left it.  I slipped out the back door to start a plan.  The funniest thing
was, as I walked home with the garbage bag folded under my arm so that it
would look less like a garbage bag, the Van Horn's drove by.  As they
passed, I could see Cindy saying something to Ed as they glanced at me. 
They both laughed.  I grinned and waved.

   After renting a locker at the bus garage, I spent the rest of the day at
the public library, putting a plan into motion.  When you live with ten
other boys in one house, the bathroom or a public library is the only place
you can act in privacy.

   I was forty-three thousand dollars richer.

   =======================================================================
Chapter Two: I love it when a good plan cums together... 
======================================================================

   On Sunday night, the day after my daring daylight burglary, I cut the
phone line at the side of their home prior to ringing the doorbell.  My
ground work was done and it was time for the show.  I had Ed's lawsuit
files with me.

   Edwin Van Horn opened the front door and stared at me.  He looked
worried and distraught.

   "Yes?" he demanded impatiently.

   "I'm Damien North," I stated.  "I'm here to talk to you and Mrs.  Van
Horn."

   "Look, we're busy now.  Go away", he said flatly, already making ready
to close the door on me.  Then he saw the files under my arm.  His eyes
went wide and his face turned red.  "What do you got there?" he demanded.

   "Where?", I feigned stupidity.

   "Under your arm.  Under your arm!  Are those my files?  ARE THOSE MY
FUCKING FILES?!  he shouted.

   "Yes, I believe they are" I declared, already feeling a distaste for Mr.
Edwin Van Horn.

   "Give them to me", he demanded, already coming out and reaching for the
files tucked under my arm.

   "Careful Eddie, you'll injure your back." His eyes went wide again with
anger.  He was pissed.

   "I said give me those files, you fucking punk".  I was bigger than him
and I was a fucking punk?

   "Let me in, Ed.  I'm getting tired of your attitude."

   His eyes glanced around the darkness behind me.  "Get in here." He
turned back and held the door open as I passed inside, closing it behind
me.

   Ed was almost dancing on his heels.  It was apparent that he didn't know
what to say, and didn't know what to expect.  He stared wildly at me.

   "Here's your files back Eddie".

   I could tell that calling him Eddie would irritate him to no end.  I
handed him the materials.  He snatched them eagerly, but didn't so much as
examine them before tossing them onto the couch.

   "What else you got for me?  Who are you?  I know you.  You're that group
home kid Cindy pointed out yesterday!"

   Before I could answer, Cindy's voice floated out of the kitchen as she
approached.

   "Who is it?".

   My libido jumped as she appeared.  She was floating in like a goddess in
some casual jeans and a man's white button shirt.  She stopped in surprise
when she saw me.  Her eyes widened for a fraction, then she made a peculiar
sniffing sound of distaste.  She glanced at Edwin, her protector.

   "What's he doing here?" she hissed to him.

   "I think I found the asshole who ripped us off", Edwin stated flatly.

   "This child?--Damien whatever-his-name-is?" she said in disbelief.

   "Where's the rest of the stuff you stole?" Ed stared at me, his hands
clenching into fists.

   "Let's talk", I said reasonably.  Edwin Van Horn was overdue for an ass
kicking but I wanted him to feel totally in control, totally masculine in
front of his wife.  "I left you a bit of your stash--why don't you go load
a bowl and we'll spark it up.  Then I'll tell you where the rest of your
stuff is."

   He considered briefly, staring at me like a macho man.  Then he wheeled
on Cindy and told her he was going downstairs.  He suggested that she
change into something more comfortable.  She stared at him, then at me. 
She apparently grasped that he might need her to wow me into giving them
back their money by showing some skin.  She finally shrugged and told me
sarcastically to "make myself comfortable."

   They left me alone in their living room.  I cast my glance about,
locating a stout wooden cane in an umbrella stand.  I grabbed it and placed
it behind the seat cushions of the couch.  I seated myself and waited, my
adrenaline rushing now.

   Cindy returned first.  She flounced in wearing that same man's shirt and
some black spandex workout pants.  Her body was first rate, her tits
pushing the shirt away from her chest; the spandex molded around her hips
and ass.  She glanced idly at me, seating herself across the room in a
rocking recliner.  She did not initiate a conversation and I could tell my
presence in her beautiful home was offensive to her.

   Edwin clomped back up the stairs.  He walked through the kitchen and out
to meet us.  He glanced at Cindy, then took up a position behind her chair,
like Gomez used to stand behind Morticia for the family photo on the Addams
Family.  He had walked stiffly, and I knew he was packing that gun on him.

   "I realized downstairs that I didn't want to smoke with you," he said
icily.  "I might want to smoke you though", he added.

   I started the ball rolling, ignoring his threat.

   "Ed.  Cindy.  I've got a confession to make.  I stole your dope and your
money.  I read up on your lawsuit."

   "Fuck that--where's our money?" Ed snapped.

   Cindy's eyes were bright at his words--he was her aggressive male
protector.

   I continued.

   "I cannot tell a lie.  It is my belief that you are buying and selling
marijuana while you wait for your bullshit lawsuit to be settled.  I must
state that I think you're a perfectly healthy and capable man.  And I must
admit that I have one hell of a crush on Mrs.  Van Horn.  There, I've said
it.  They say confession is good for the soul and they are right." I gave
an exaggerated sigh of relief and settled back on the couch.

   They stared at me openmouthed, wanting me to go on and explain myself.
When I didn't, Edwin slowly shook his head, grinning evilly at me, ready
for his big show in front of his wife.  Little fuck.

   "Next you're gonna tell me that if you don't leave here alive, someone
is going to the police right?"

   Ed pulled the gun from the back of his waist and pointed it at me.

   "For the last time, where's my stuff?!"

   "Ed, if you were even man enough to shoot me, you'd blow your hand off
first.  I stuffed the barrel with some of your marijuana.  That gun will
explode when you pull the trigger," I remarked as casually as I could.  It
was true, of course.  I had fixed that gun.

   Ed reversed the barrel and looked into it.  When he saw the tightly
packed marijuana, he looked sheepish.  I had made him look stupid.  He
dropped the gun and charged across the room at me.  I leaped to my feet,
whipping the cane out from behind the cushions.  I caught him with a hard
one on the side of his head.  Blood flew from the beautiful laceration I
inflicted.  His glasses flew off his large head.  Ed screamed and dropped
to his knees.  Cindy stood up from her chair, shocked.  Her hand fumbled
for the phone on the end table.  She listened, puzzled as there was no dial
tone.  I slid over to her and pushed her down hard back into the chair.

   "Don't fucking move," I ordered.

   Ed staggered clumsily to his feet, staring in my direction, his vision
impeded by the loss of his glasses.  I picked them up.  I threw the cane
over near the front door and approached Edwin Van Horn.

   "Here's your glasses, Eddie.  Can we discuss this like gentlemen?"

   Ed put his glasses on with dignity.  He did what he had to do in front
of his wife.  He grabbed my arms.  I brought my forehead crashing into his
nose.  It exploded in a geyser of blood.  He made a snuffling sound, trying
to breath through his nose.  He clung to me like a injured boxer.  I
brought my knee up and slammed it into his groin.  He squealed and slumped
to the floor.  It wasn't over yet.  Ed needed his lesson and his wife had
to see him get beaten.  I put the boots to him, striking his legs and
unprotected back.  He curled up into a fetal position, the fight had gone
out of him and survival of the weakest was foremost on his mind.  I
finished by hauling him to his feet, as though I was assisting him, then
raining bitch slaps back and forth across his cheeks.  Ed was blubbering
like a little girl.  Blood coursed out of his nose and tears slid down his
face into his beard.  He actually pissed himself as I slapped him.  I threw
him onto the couch.  As a last victory, I ripped his shirt off him.  I
dragged his pants off and tossed them aside.  I grabbed the waistband of
his sodden underwear and tore them off.  His legs showed red blotches where
I had kicked him.  His genitalia were shriveled with fear.  Cindy remained
in her chair, her face pasty.  She looked like she could vomit.  I gave
them a minute, him sobbing and clutching his face; her frozen, making no
move to help him.  I tossed him the remains of his shirt.

   "Wipe that blood off your face".

   He did, finally looking over the top of his makeshift bandage, looking
at me through his tears.  He looked so pathetic, a short overweight teacher
who thought he was going to be a hero.  It hadn't even been a nice try.

   "You guys didn't let me finish.  No one knows I'm here.  I'm not like
that.  I'm more of an 'classic loner'.  I do things I don't understand.  I
don't really even know why I'm here.  Anyway, if you would have looked into
your precious files Eddie you would have seen that I've already mailed one
letter."

   Ed stiffened.  I opened his files, extracting two copies of a letter.  I
gave each of them a copy.

   "This letter, I've already sent.  It's an unsigned letter to the
insurance company for the school system.  It says that I have reason to
believe that you sustained no permanent injury from your accident and that
I've observed a recent videotape of you fucking Cindy here--you embedded
the date on the videotape, dumb ass--and that your claim of loss of
consortium is a lie.  It finishes with my suggestion that they send you a
certified letter asking you yet again to take an exam at a clinic of their
choosing.  It finishes with a prediction that within a month, you'll be
back to work and the lawsuit will be dropped.  It's pretty well written,
don't you think?" I smirked.

   A bomb of silence had been dropped in the room.  It was quiet except for
Ed's tortured breathing.  "Why?", he finally croaked.

   "Well Ed, it's like I say.  I can't always explain my motives.  I do
know that I've taken a shining to Cindy here--her diffidence I find
enchanting.  When I found your stash, I knew I just knew something grand
was called for.  But dig this--I prepared another letter to the cops." I
pulled two more copies from the file with a flourish, providing them to Ed
and Cindy.  "This letter will make you laugh because it's so honest.  It's
like a total confession of my activities.  The burglary, the drugs and
money, everything is in there.  I even included a sample of your dope, Ed.
I signed that one.  The real one is sitting in someone's mailbox, somewhere
in this subdivision.  The mailman comes early--about nine in the morning.
It will go out then, if I don't retrieve it.  Obviously, it implicates you
as a drug dealer and Cindy as a knowing participant.  It even has the key
to the bus garage locker I stashed your stuff in.  Since I was not an agent
of a police agency when I wrote my confession all of it can be used against
you guys.  They probably won't even charge me if I actually testify against
you.  Even if they did, it wouldn't bother me.  I'm already a ward of the
state."

   "What do you want?" Cindy asked in a frightened whisper, the letters
clutched in her hand.

   "Let's start with a kiss," I said sweetly.

   Ed bounded to his feet.  "No fucking way!" he squealed.  I crossed the
room and laid into him, slapping his face repeatedly before knocking him
onto his naked ass on the floor.

   "Shut the fuck up, Eddie--haven't you learned anything about yourself
tonight?"

   His hairy groin was unprotected for an instant and I sank my Nike into
it.  Ed screamed and vomited onto the carpet, whining and muling like a
child.  It could not have been good for Cindy to see him get beat like
that. It would make her realize that Edwin Van Horn could not protect her.
It could also make her realize that Ed had gotten her into trouble in the
first place with his bullshit lawsuit and drug dealing while he waited to
score the big bucks.  At least that's what I thought at the time.  I
learned different later.  My teacher rose shakily to her feet.

   "I don't want anything to do with you," she said tiredly.  "I'm going to
bed".

   "You don't have a choice, Mrs.  Van Horn.  When you're convicted, you
lose your teaching job.  You lose this house and your bank accounts under
federal drug forfeiture laws.  You won't have anything, except a felony
conviction to help you get your next job after you leave prison", I said
quietly.

   Her troubled face began to cry.  I slipped up to her and placed my arms
around her, turning her so I could watch Ed laying there, docile now, while
I held his wife.  She stiffened as I touched her.  I felt her large funbags
pressing against my chest.  I pulled her face to mine and kissed her,
tasting her salty tears as she trembled.  I forced her mouth open and
tongued her.  My penis sprang to attention.  I could still sense her
revulsion.  My tongue invaded her mouth, forcing her tongue to move to
avoid mine.  We tongue fought for a minute.  I was ready for the next step.


   "What I require for tonight Mrs.  Van Horn, is a blowjob.  This
nightmare could end for you in a few months.  Or I could just let the
mailman pick up that letter, and it would end for you in a few years.  In
any case, my demand is a now thing, so do it."

   Mrs.  Edwin Van Horn pulled away from me and broke down in sobs.  "I
hate you", she screamed.  Good thing all the windows were closed.  I
measured the distance to her pretty face and slapped her hard twice, once
on each cheek.  My hand was stinging.  She gasped in shock and cried
harder, protecting her face.  I grabbed her short blonde hair and led her
slowly to the seat she had vacated.  Ed lay there staring myopically at us,
making no further attempts to be a hero.  I sat myself down heavily in the
chair forcing her to her knees in front of me.  Grasping her with my
thighs, I unbuttoned my jeans, unzipped and pulled them down my hips, along
with my underwear.  My cock sprang free from it's prison, jutting up into
Cindy's face.

   "Get going," I ordered.

   The fight gone out of her, she complied, taking me into her warm wet
mouth.  Tears dripped onto my groin as she fellated me.  I pushed her face
down onto my cock, reveling in her mouth while keeping an eye on Eddie, who
looked and listened from his beaten down position.  The end approached all
too soon.  I pulled my cock out of Cindy's mouth, using my hand on her
forehead to raise her.  I shots ropes of semen onto her upturned face,
striking her nose and cheeks.  Her mouth had immediately closed tight.  I
brushed my cock across her face, feeling the pressure on my hand as she
tried to pull away.  My cock stroked her face, coating her in my sperm.

   "Clean me--open up," I ordered.

   She resisted until I grasped her hair, tightening until she shrieked and
opened her mouth to my soiled warrior.  I placed my cock back in her mouth.
She closed upon it, gagging on the taste of my semen in her mouth.  It was
a nice feeling.  What a pretty teacher.

   I pushed her back on her haunches.  Standing up, I rearranged my
clothing and stepped away from my chair.  I strode up to Ed, who had
recovered his glasses.  He shrank away from me as I approached.  Good.

   I ordered them both to stand up.  They rose shakily to their feet; Ed
stiff and sore from his beating, Cindy sobbing and wiping my load off her
face with the hem of her shirt.  Two badly shaken suburbanite educators.  I
made them hold hands and face me as I addressed them.

   "I'd say we're off to a good start.  I've got a letter to recover while
you two have a new arrangement to come to terms with.  I'd suggest you come
to terms with it quickly.  It's gonna last a couple of months I'd
guess--until I get bored."

   Ed finally croaked, "Then what happens?"

   "You get your money and your dope back.  You get your freedom back.  I
find something else to occupy my time.  Anyway, I'm going now.  You guys
clean up Ed's fluids and get some sleep.  By the way, you'll have to tape
up the phone line outside where I cut it.  I'll see you tomorrow in school
Teach..."

   Cindy said quietly, "You're crazy, you know that?  You're crazy."

   "I never said I was normal, Mrs.  Van Horn.  I never said that." I let
myself out, feeling light in the loins from a good blowjob from my darling
little teacher.

   ===================================================================== In
Teacher Passes the Test Part II, Mr.  Teacher's Wild Ride, Damien
reinforces Ed's submission after he and his schoolteacher wife, Cindy Van
Horn, make a critical error in judgment.  Cindy is forced to help. 
======================================================================
Teacher Passes the Test Parts 1-10 by Shakespeare_I._Aint

   Part One: It Was Worth Breaking In Part Two: Mr.  Teacher's Wild Ride
Part Three: Who Sleeps On The Wet Spot?  Part Four: Nothing Like a Facial
to Tighten up those Pores Part Five: Kind Of Slutty For a Cheerleader... 
Part Six: Spare The Rod And Spoil the Teacher Part Seven: What Have You
Been Eating?  Part Eight: Now That's Entertainment!  Part Nine: Walk This
Way Part Ten: All Good Things Have To Come Up Your End
====================================================================

   ====================================================================